Small Miracles
by Asukasammy
Summary: Set 15 years before Miracles in England, A young girl's encounter with Father Alva Keel changes her life forever.
1. Chapter 1

Miracles were a fraud.  
  
Every time the Church sent him out to investigate, a reasonable scientific explanation could be found: either the occurrence was a mere coincidence, or, even more commonly, a scam.  
  
The scams were the worst of all. With today's dramatically advancing technology, it was getting progressively easier to fool some faithful; God fearing country citizen into believing that the site they were seeing was a miracle. Then he would tell someone else, and that person would tell someone, and on and on and on, until some backwoods priest heard about it and somehow, eventually, the Catholic Church found out about it. Then he would be sent out to investigate, one of many the Church kept in reserve, and find that the "miracle" was only an impressive display of lights, smoke, and mirrors, programmed and arranged by a computer. Then the people would go home, questioning their faith and the honesty of their fellow man, and he would feel miserable for being the one who had to tell them.  
  
It was because of frauds like that that he was now fully convinced that the infernal machine, so newly available on the market, was inherently evil.  
  
It was from one of these situations that he was returning.  
  
Sighing to himself, Father Alva Keel picked up his bags and continued down the aisle of the train car to the back exit. He doubted he would ever forget the devastated looks on the congregations' faces. Many of them were older, in their early 70s at least, and he quietly wondered if they would ever get over the shock... in fact he believed he had passed an ambulance in front of one of their houses as he had left for the station.  
  
He stepped off the train, nodding once to the lone porter on the platform as he passed by. The few others he saw on the way to the steps leading to an overhead walkway either smiled or brushed by him quickly and he lost himself to his own thoughts ignoring them completely. He'd have to make a report once he returned to the seminary at Gloucester before he could relax. Somehow the vision of the frowning church seniors awaiting him was hardly comforting.  
  
In the station proper newspaper stands overflowed with magazines and tabloids while warm aromas drifted temptingly from a small cart hidden off to one side. Keel stopped at it to buy a bit of coffee and a warm roll, checking the monitors posted along one wall for the arrival time of his connecting train to Birmingham. A loud strident voice distracted him however, and he easily located the source of it. Across the way a severe blonde haired woman in a red trench coat argued heatedly with the cashier at the ticket counter. The later was nearly cowering behind his desk while the station personnel hurried to appease her. Shaking his head at the scene, he retrieved his change from the cart attendant before continuing on, hardly seeing the small slip of girl watching him from behind the woman's red coat.  
  
The crowds were surprisingly sparse despite the evening hour; hardly any businessmen crowded the platforms or the corridors, and the only rush was when a school group hurried passed him in a blur of somber uniforms. The dull colors reminded him of his own life at catholic school, and he was grateful when the nuns herding them barely even noticed that he was there.  
  
Emptying his coffee, Keel went to toss it into a nearby trash bin . . .  
  
He was distracted, however, by a thick heavy tome, half hidden buried among the rubbish.  
  
Curious, he pulled it out, gently dusting it off with his gloved fingers revealing a light blue cover worn with age. The books spine was broken from some long ago fall, and its corners were bent and swollen from water damage. Inside, the slick pages were wrinkled and stained, covered with neat little lines and musical notes. Here and there sketches could be seen in the margins and someone had pasted in clippings of masterpieces, the pictures still vibrant with color. Keel smiled unconsciously to himself, recognizing the artist's soft style almost at once. Pierre-Auguste Renoir's' work was saturated with hues of red, yellow, blue and green: each paintings strokes telling a story of dancing in French parks or young girls playing at a piano . . . a time of innocence far from the world of today.  
  
He could find no written name on either inside cover, but a note in delicate script read: To my little artist, you are already a master in my heart, Love, Vati  
  
Keel flipped the book over in his hands, as he debated what to do with it. The girl- for it had to be a girl, he could never remember his own father speaking or writing anything to him like that- had probably already left the station by now on a train to some other city, and while she might still be at Birmingham station when he got there, she could have just continued on her way to Leicester, Stratford-apon-avon, or Northampton. It would be best to just leave it with one of the ticket cashiers up front . . . and yet, something kept him from doing it.  
  
Somehow he couldn't hand it over to the cashiers or any of the nearby policemen. They would probably just toss it in the rubbish bin again when he turned his back on them and then laugh about the trusting priest at the pub later tonight...  
  
Shaking his head in disgust, Keel snapped it shut with a definitive snap and continued to the platform where his train was to arrive. He quickly located an empty bench nearby and sat, settling his bags at his feet, and opening the book once more. He flipped through its damp pages, noticing the archaic words printed between the bars of music: Latin. The rest were either Italian or German with a lone song in English, almost as if whoever had edited the book had put it in as an afterthought.  
  
The sharp staccato of a woman's high heels echoed on the cold air, punctuating an angry voice that barely rose above a whisper. He looked up to see the woman from the station lobby walking down the platform, carrying an overnight tote in one hand and pulling along a girl by the wrist with the other. Amazingly the child wasn't in tears yet, her eyes continued to stare straight ahead even when the mother tugged on the girls pale blonde braid to get her attention.  
  
Outrage burning in him, Keel closed the book and stood, intending to speak up. His movement caught the girl's attention, her face suddenly lighting up. "Mein buch!"  
  
"Dein...?" The mother turned to look, her expression becoming dark with promised violence. "Dieb!!"  
  
Keel frowned, not understanding, he hadn't stolen anything...  
  
The woman began to advance on him, but the girl reached him first in a blur of dark blue wool. The ten year-old smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed even though she was barely out of breath. "Mein buch... you found it! I thought I'd lost it for good!"  
  
He stared at her for a moment, the blue book beginning to grow heavy in his hand as his mind raced to catch up with the situation. The woman in the red trench coat was only a few feet away when it all came together. Relaxing a little, he moved the book in front of him, holding it with both hands. "Your book... this book?"  
  
"Ja. I thought I'd left it on the train, or that it had fallen out somewhere. Mutter was going to..." She tensed suddenly as her mother's hands fell onto her shoulders. Keel looked up to find the woman's expression was suddenly bright and cheerful.  
  
"Good afternoon, Pater." She smiled, and Keel was suddenly reminded of caged panther he'd seen at a circus once, always waiting for it's chance to attack. "I see you've found Katrien's songbook. She needs it for her performance tonight and we were very afraid we'd lost it, weren't we Katrien?"  
  
"Ja, mutter." Katrien's expression had gone neutral, her eyes staring blankly ahead again, as the Birmingham train pulled into the station.  
  
Keel regarded both of them, not sure of what to say. He began to tap the book on his fingertips, and watched as the mother's expression darkened ever so slightly. She grabbed it, stopping it, her face returning to it's smiling facade. "Could you...?"  
  
"Ah, yes, here you are." He handed it over, letting go of it reluctantly, still feeling as if he should say something. The mother, her smile becoming more brittle by the moment, handed it off to her daughter. "I..."  
  
"Well, danke, once again, Pater. I don't know what we would have done without it, if you hadn't found it." She turned in a swirl of red towards the train, dismissing him immediately as she pulled two tickets from her bag.  
  
The little girl continued to stare up at him, the songbook clutched to her chest. "Es tut mir lied... she's..."  
  
Keel smiled for the first time that day, feeling sorry for the child in front of him. He touched her chin lightly, making her look up at him. "Mach dir keine sorgen."  
  
The girl smiled up at him, her entire face lighting up yet again; the face of a trusting innocent. "Danke..."  
  
"Katrien!" The mother's sharp tone rang out over the platform, managing somehow to overpower the Conductor's last call.  
  
The girl automatically turned and ran down the platform, shouting over her shoulder as she went. "Danke, Pater, Lebewohl!!!"  
  
Keel sighed to himself, watching her as she went, his heart heavy in his chest.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
German to English Glossary (In order of Appearance/use)  
  
*Vati- Father  
  
*Mein buch- My Book  
  
*Dein- your  
  
*Dieb- thief  
  
*Pater- Preist  
  
*Ja, Mutter- Yes, Mother  
  
*Danke- thank you  
  
*Es tut mir lied- I am sorry about that  
  
*Mach dir keine sorgen- Do not worry about it  
  
*Lebewohl- Farewell/Good-Bye 


	2. Chapter 2

Katrien clutched the faded hardbound book to her chest, dodging around the other passenger's crowding the train car's aisle. Her mother would be mad at her for dawdling, and she could already hear the scolding to come, but at least it would make her forget about the songbook for the moment. She hugged the book even tighter, relieved to finally have it back in her arms again and smiling at the faint scent of cigar smoke that drifted up from its damp pages. Granted they had other copies of her sheet music that she used for the performances, but none of them evoked the memories of home that the book did. A book that was growing ever more precious the further they traveled from Germany, now that her mother had told her they wouldn't be returning.  
  
She leaned heavily on the door leading to the next car, hoping to budge it open just enough for her to slip through. All the traveling that they had been doing lately was exciting, but she missed Vati. Her mother had been in such a rush to leave that she wasn't able to say good-bye....  
  
The door opened abruptly, and Katrien stumbled through it, catching a quick glimpse of a man in chains before strong hands caught her. "Are you all right, lass? What's the hurry?"  
  
She blinked up at the police officer before her, struggling to understand his thick Scottish accent. Remembering the man in chains, she peered around the policeman looking at the cubicle that he had disappeared into. A soft sing song voice drifted through the thin door, whatever was being said was un-intelligible and child like, spoken to a 'friend'.  
  
The officer followed her gaze and smiled, his badge and the keys at his belt flashing in the late afternoon sun as the train rocked along. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about him, love. He's harmless: couldn't hurt a fly. Now why don't you run along now, eh? I bet your parent's are looking for you."  
  
Katrien shot him a quick glance, relieved at being able to escape. She shivered unconsciously as she hurried on to the next car. Harmless or not, she didn't like the tone in the prisoner's voice, not at all.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Keel settled into his seat on the train, after pausing briefly to toss his bags into the luggage rack above. He pulled off his gloves and glanced out the frost-covered window next to him, watching the world speed by in a blur of yellow-green and gray skies. Bells rang, faint and metallic sounding as they neared train crossings, and faded quickly into silence as they roared on by.  
  
They stopped at small country station to let off passengers, and pick up a small group of young women. They breezed pass him in a swirl of gaudy colors and heavy jackets, glancing back at him with inviting looks. One even dropped her purse by him in the aisle, but he ignored the attempt at contact, continuing to stare out the window. His own reflection stared back at him: curly black hair fell into his eyes, troubled orbs of gray green ringed by faint shadows, reminders of the sleep that had evaded him the past few nights. A slight beard was beginning on his cheeks and he rubbed at his jaw wondering how women still managed to find him attractive in this worn out state. His mother, a dead shade of the past, had told him that he was handsome often enough when he was a boy, jokingly warning him against breaking too many hearts. His mind flinched away from the memory of her loving face, and he sighed to himself. Soon he would be back at Gloucester, and he could put this whole sorry affair behind him.  
  
The young businessman across from him snorted, his face sour with envy. Something chirped from inside his briefcase and he pulled out a large beige handset with a thick antenna on top. The girls giggled amongst themselves as the businessman began to speak loudly and repeat himself to the contraption he was holding. Keel watched the scene out of the corner of his eye, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. Yet another infernal machine that would probably end up making his job worse.  
  
The businessman smiled at Keel, misjudging his disdain for an expression of interest. "It's a new device. They're thinking of calling it a mobile phone."  
  
Keel stared at him, "A what?"  
  
"A mobile phone. It's really quite great actually, see you can take it with you anywhere and use it to call someone somewhere else, without having to hike to the nearest pub or public telephone." He handed it to Keel, watching the priest closely as he turned it over, inspecting it. "It'll be the next big thing by the end of the year."  
  
"And you can call anybody on it from anywhere?"  
  
"Oh, aye. That was just my..." The businessman flashed a quick look at the girls behind him, clearing his througt noisily. "That was just my wife, calling to tell me that she got the tickets for that big Katrien Van Helt concert tonight. You've heard about her haven't you? Germany's famous little songbird?"  
  
Keel shook his head, unable to believe that he was encouraging the conversation, "I haven't had time to pay attention to the... arts as of late."  
  
"Well, I can imagine that you've better things to do with your time, being a priest and all. I wouldn't pay any attention to that stuff either, but my wife..." The man rolled his eyes heavenward, "Apparently this girl's really something: my wife swears that she sings just like an angel. You should see her when I get back from work sometimes, she'll have this girl's records turned way up loud, to the point that you can hear it blocks away..."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A man watched the two guards across from him intently, rocking side to side slightly as the train moved along. The chains restraining his wrists and ankles clinked with the movement, alternating between reflecting his drab uniform or the bright cabin lights above. He stared on unflinchingly, ignoring the occasional sound of cards being shuffled, his lips moving constantly in an unceasing murmur.  
  
The guards ignored him for the most part, caught up in a friendly game of poker punctuated suddenly by a groan of defeat or a shout of triumph. Twice the older of the two had stood and checked their prisoner's chains before disappearing into the corridor running the length of the car, only to return smelling of cigarette smoke and whiskey. The prisoner was silently surprised that the younger guard didn't take advantage of these 'breaks' and check to see what cards his partner had considering the bad luck he'd been having: but the boy would merely sit and watch him, relaxing only when the older officer returned.  
  
Fresh from the academy, that one, the prisoner thought, his smile turning feral. He'd be on his toes, expecting something to happen, but his lack of experience made him gullible. Now the oldest guard could be a problem, normally the older ones were harder to fool, but the liquid in his hip flask was quickly working against him, making him sloppier.  
  
This would be easier than he'd originally thought.  
  
A little voice awoke in the back of his mind. Just a little bit longer, soon it will be time.  
  
The older guard stood abruptly, tossing his keys to his partner. The boy caught them deftly, his expression slightly stunned as he stared up at the Scot. "Where are you going?"  
  
"To get lunch. I saw a dinner car at the back of the train while we were loading, and we've still got a ways to go before we reach Birmingham."  
  
"But we're both supposed to be with him at all times..."  
  
The prisoner smiled, beginning to hum, and the older guard threw him a quick look, gesturing vaguely. "Look at him, d'you think he'll try anything in that shape? It's the quiet ones you have to watch for, not the loony birds."  
  
The boy sighed, rubbing at his face and tossing his cards to the ground. "Fine, bring me back a Guinness then, will you?"  
  
The Scot laughed, then imitated the boys voice, "But we aren't allowed to drink on the job!"  
  
"Doesn't seem to be stopping you."  
  
"Aye, you're right about that. One Guinness it is then." He slipped through the door laughing as he went.  
  
The prisoner's smile grew.  
  
Soon. Very very soon.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Keel rolled his eyes heavenward, silently praying for patience and regretting the fact that he had let the conversation continue for this long. The businessman continued to prattle on, telling him about a two- headed calf he'd seen once as a boy. It was because of topics like this that he no longer mentioned his occupation, or spoke to strangers at all, for that matter either.  
  
A police officer passed them, waving on his feet slightly as he headed forward, a bottle of Guinness in either hand. The party girls giggled amongst themselves at his appearance, then again when he stumbled before finally disappearing into the next car.  
  
The businessman snorted. "Well he was on his way to being roaring drunk wasn't he?"  
  
Keel only nodded, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. "I don't remember there being an officer on the platform at the station before last."  
  
"There wasn't, and that wasn't a policeman: he was wearing a prison guards uniform." The man's grimace hinted at his having some experience knowing this, something Keel was slightly surprised that hadn't been mentioned in the past hour. "Weren't they going to be transporting some convict or something soon?"  
  
"I...."  
  
"...Wouldn't know," the businessman finished for him. "You should pay more attention to the news. There's a great deal of interesting stuff going on in the world, my friend."  
  
The train shuddered suddenly, the lights flickering before going off entirely. Keel felt himself thrown forward, his head colliding with the seat in front of him, then everything went black. 


	3. Chapter 3

Her dreams were painted with the rose gardens of her home, warm with the summer sun, and ever shifting in the light breeze that threatened to dry her watercolors before she was done.  
  
Her father called her name, and she stood quickly, upsetting the water glass by her knee. Icy cold, the well water washed over the canvas, turning all the flowers she had painted there into a muddy brown mess. She gasped in surprise and knelt to mop the mess up with a rag, only to have her hand sink into a deep warm puddle of spreading blood. It surrounded her, pulling her down into its vivid red depths: She tried to scream, but the only sound she made was a hoarse whisper, soon silenced when the thick blood covered her head, drowning her in darkness.  
  
Katrien awoke to find the moon illuminating the frost-covered windows of the train, filling their cabin with soft light and gray shadows. The silence was deafening, every metallic creak or groan echoing through their car. On the other couch her mother was as still as a marble statue, her thin face almost skeletal in the eerie light.  
  
She licked her lips nervously, her breath shaky as she inhaled, "Are we dead?"  
  
"So Sleeping Beauty finally awakens." Her mother's voice was harsh, her eyes black in the darkness. "We are not dead. The train stopped a few minutes ago- some idiot probably pulled the emergency brake to amuse themselves. Stupid girl, why would you think that we are dead?"  
  
"I thought... I had an alptraum, and I thought..."  
  
"Silly girl, grow up, it was only a dream, nothing more. Now, let's put this delay to good use and warm up..." Katrien nodded, watching as her mother pulled a round tuner from her pocket and blew into it, doing her best to match it's soft whistle.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
At the other end of the car, strong hands forced the door linking it to the rest of the train open. A figure slipped through and moaned painfully, covering his ears against the pure sweet sounds drifting down the corridor to him. He shrieked, cowering in the corner as the sounds grew louder and louder, nearly drowning out the voice that kept up a constant murmur in his subconscious.  
  
The voice's tirade took a sudden turn, changing from its previous focus on freedom and escape to a completely different direction.  
  
The prisoner hissed to himself, his eyes clouded with visions of blood stained walls. The angels, he silently promised his friend, would suffer.  
  
TBC  
  
German to English glossary  
  
*Alptraum - Nightmare 


End file.
